


I Let in the Morn on the Morrow

by ren_makoto



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: M/M, Post-Episode Ignis Verse 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-14
Updated: 2019-11-14
Packaged: 2021-01-30 11:53:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21427789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ren_makoto/pseuds/ren_makoto
Summary: The Crystal had answered every question Noctis asked it. All but one. Ignis knows the answer.
Relationships: Noctis Lucis Caelum/Ignis Scientia
Comments: 10
Kudos: 61





	I Let in the Morn on the Morrow

It's a chilly day in Insomnia, hinting of snow in the evening or frost at least, but the Citadel is always kept a comfortable temperature. The towers are quiet most days despite the bustle of staff behind the scenes in the kitchens, bedrooms, and administrative offices — the soldiers stationed around in strategic but discreet places. It's safe enough inside the enormous palace that only the Chamberlain accompanies the King. Now that the war is over — now that the demons have gone — it is safe enough indeed.

The Chamberlain is named Ignis Scientia. He is too tall for his weight, dressed in dusty black, and squinting ever so slightly at the walls on either side of him. His large eyes are faded like sun-bleached fabric. They were green once, but now they are milky blue, like something vital was sucked away from them. Ignis moves easily despite his poor vision, catlike and confident. There are scars on his face, deep, but well-healed, and they give him the air of young man — only thirty-three years old — who has lived a harder life than most can survive. There are indentations on the bridge of his nose and the sides of his head, but the glasses that caused them are tucked away, unnecessary at the moment. It seems that, where once he needed clarity, he is now content with the blurred lines the world presents to him.

The King is His Majesty Noctis Lucis Caelum, the 114th ruler of Lucis, a grand title for a man who is smaller, slighter, and just a little stooped. Someone seeing Noctis might wonder if he had carried some great weight in his younger years so that now he is bent from the strain, like an old man who spent his youth plucking rice from the fields. His hair is slate grey and wispy around his pale face. If he were to shave, he would look younger and less serious. It would not be an accurate picture, so he keeps the beard trimmed, but can't imagine being without it altogether. He too wears black and it makes his hair look even greyer. His eyes are the most vibrant thing about him, blue and bright and alive. He truly looks a king; someone used to giving commands and having them obeyed.

The two men — King and Chamberlain — walk side by side, shoulders brushing sometimes. Their destination is the Small Council Chamber for one of many meetings to decide how the city of Insomnia will run now that the people have returned. Now that the unlamented Usurper, Ardyn Izunia, is but a memory.

They move slower than they might had Ignis set the pace. But the King wears a brace — heavy and creaking — on one knee, and his progress is slow. Ignis makes no comment, but keeps the long strides his long legs can make very short ones. He does it easily, casually, as if he makes no allowances at all for the king. Noctis appreciates his discretion and consideration, but resents that it is necessary. He used to fight giants and now he limps.

Their shadows are dark on the carpeted floor. And though the hallway is almost cramped, Noctis prefers it to the expansive stretch of the Crystal's womb. He'd nestled there for ten years, growing stronger, absorbing power and knowledge.

They'd beaten back the darkness with what he had gained inside the Crystal and for that he is grateful for it. Yes, the power from the Crystal...and his loyal and brave friends. More than that he can't say.

There had been no boundaries and no up or down inside the Crystal. It had been lonely and cold. Only…

There had been voices. They had come from all around. At first, they spoke to him endlessly of the Astrals, of wars past, and destiny. He'd grown sick of it all fairly quickly and screamed at them to shut up.

He'd been surprised when they did.

Only then did he realize they could hear him, too. He could tell them his concerns and fears. He could ask them questions. And so he did. He had asked many questions by the end of his ten year imprisonment. They had answered them all.

Well, _almost_ all.

The sky is a vibrant blue despite the chill, but there are no windows in this hallway for the King and his Chamberlain to see it. They are in a narrower passage than those where guests might venture. It is only used by senior staff and royalty. The decor is opulent, but not easily seen without the high windows that allow blinding light into the towers elsewhere. There are pretty lamps along both walls that help pierce the dark, and they reveal portraits of royals past in intricate frames. The grand royals pose with weapons and look out of the shadows with worry or fearlessness.

"He would have wielded that sceptre with his left hand," Noctis says casually, gesturing at a portrait of an impressive king, bearded and stern.

Ignis says, "I'm surprised you remember that detail," and halts beside him. His expression is indeed one of pleasant surprise.

"Hey, I listened," Noctis lies. "His right hand was crushed in battle, but the portrait was started before that, so the artist finished it from sketches." He gestures again to the painting, but keeps his eyes on Ignis who is focused on the sceptre in question, bending close to it and deliberately not looking at Noctis. Before the Crystal, Noctis had never noticed how Ignis never obviously stared at him. Ignis had always seemed to be looking somewhere else, and Noctis had been fooled back then by the act. Not so now. All Ignis does is watch over Noctis, all while appearing to be distracted elsewhere.

"Indeed," Ignis says and Noctis can tell he's glad, but skeptical about this newfound knowledge of the Old Kings.

When Noctis was a child, Ignis would lead him through the labyrinth of the Citadel's corridors by his hand to tell him the names and histories of the men and women in the portraits. Noct, as he was called then — a charming nickname he has mostly shed — hadn't really paid attention to the details, though he had thought Ignis clever and impressive for knowing so very much. His Chamberlain had seemed much older than him, though Ignis was only two years his senior. Ignis' studiousness and knowledge had aged him up, dragged him through the years by his eyes and mind. And now, the difference is not so stark, Noctis thinks.

They'd survived a war together. Fought side by side against monsters together. Watched the world overrun by darkness together. They'd witnessed the Dawn return together on the steps of the ruined Citadel and promised to rebuild it, the whole city, the whole world.

And now there are no real battles left to fight. There are budget concerns and zoning laws. There are treaties and banquets and memorial services, certainly. But for Noctis, every day seems easy in comparison to those dark days when Insomnia fell, or even the lonely years trapped in the Crystal, absorbing its power and learning.

They are equals now, he supposes, him and Ignis. He knows as much about his family as Ignis. He knows as much about the world and how it works as Ignis. The Crystal had told him anything he wanted to know. All he'd had to do was ask.

Beside him Ignis is saying something about the legend behind the stone in the Old King's sceptre. Noctis interrupts him with, "It wasn't really from the meteor. It was just a pretty rock he found in Galahd."

The questioning look Ignis gives Noctis would have made him stutter and stare at his feet as a child. But now he is unafraid. _Equals,_ he thinks.

"How could you know that?" Ignis asks. "The story has always been that he fashioned the stone form a fragment of the meteor."

"The story is made up. Believe me," Noctis says, proceeding down the hall again, certain Ignis will follow. He always does.

"You certainly say it with enough kingly conviction," Ignis concedes after a moment, his steps small to stay beside Noctis.

"Took me long enough?" Noctis asks with a smirk, thinking of his bodyguard's teasing. Gladiolus, the sworn Shield of the King, never missed an opportunity to insult him, especially at the expense of his younger self who hadn't been up to Gladiolus' exacting standards. Gladiolus' teasing had irritated Noct before the war. After it as well, if he felt like being honest. Now Noctis took it in stride. The Crystal had given him clarity.

"Well, kings are not made overnight," Ignis allows. "Certainly not great kings." He arches a brow and spares a single glance at Noctis who feels warmth at the subtle compliment.

He thinks of Ignis applauding after a battle, pronouncing "Magnificent" in his rich baritone. Always praising, always encouraging. Ignis had tried to drag him to his throne, his destiny, by his mended shirts and polished shoes. With his compliments and wisdom.

It reminds Noctis of the one thing the Crystal hadn't explained to him. The one question he posed that the Crystal couldn't answer. The only man who could was beside him and Noctis had seen too much to be afraid to ask now. He'd learned so much in those ten lonely years. He has one more thing he needs to know.

"I have a question," Noctis begins after they turn a corner, moving deeper into the Citadel. Ignis makes an inquisitive noise — something like "Mmm?" — and inclines his head towards Noctis. He always listens, is always attentive, and Noctis wishes he had been gifted with that skill when he was still Noct; when he was young and carefree, riding in the cushioned backseat of the Regalia; staring at the dirt and the low trees or at the back of Ignis' head, not knowing what went on inside it.

"Were you ever going to tell me?" Noctis says and doesn't even stammer.

Ignis does stop then, almost a jerky movement from a man who usually glides. Noctis stops as well, studying, waiting for his answer and curious about how Ignis will react. Ignis' cloudy gaze studies Noctis for a long, uncomfortable moment. His scarred mouth opens as if he might speak, but then closes again with a snap. Ignis' other senses have grown to compensate for his damaged eyesight and Noctis wonders if he can hear Noctis' heartbeat sound so heavy and quick.

Ignis' shock lasts only a moment. Then he turns and begins walking down the hallway once more. Noctis falls in beside him. This time, their shoulders don't brush and it is clear that Ignis is straining away from Noctis, drifting as close to the wall as he can without being rude.

"I hadn't planned on it, no," Ignis says, eyes trained forward. This comes after several long moments of silence where Noctis had wondered if Ignis would answer at all.

"I see," says Noctis, who now has his answer. A disappointing answer, but not a surprising one.

He walked and thought about Ignis, his enduring silence. The Crystal hadn't shown him the future, but it had been clear about the past, about the things he'd been blind to. He'd asked it about Ignis once — just once — and had been enveloped by rose red heat and warmth. It had spread to his fingertips and toes and made him feel like he'd never be cold again, never be alone again.

There was only one word Noctis knew for what the Crystal had shown him about Ignis.

Much of his life had made more sense to him then. The truth of it all had hit him like sunlight at daybreak. He'd remembered Ignis in college, dark circles under his green eyes, sitting beside him on his cluttered couch at midnight, helping him write a report he'd ignored in favor of going to the arcade with his new friend, Prompto. Ignis had scolded him, then pulled his rough draft onto his lap and began making corrections, suggestions. It was just one of many moments where Ignis had sacrificed his own health, his own happiness, his time and effort for a child who hadn't appreciated any of it. Rose red heat and warmth. The Crystal had been very clear.

They walk in silence the rest of the way. Noctis muses that he'd been a very blind, very foolish boy before the war. Ignis had lost his near-perfect vision in the battle against the dark, but he still saw better now than that Noct from the past ever had. The Crystal had opened Noctis' eyes, but for what point? Ignis had never intended Noctis to know. Had never intended to _act._ He'd been content to grind himself to dust for Noctis in silence.

The door to the Small Council Chamber appears almost suddenly as if it jumped out from the shadows at them. There are muffled voices coming through the door, the assembled men and women relaxed and easy with time to spare before the meeting begins.

Ignis stops and finally turns to Noctis, his face schooled and calm. Like always. Just like always.

"Why?" Noctis asks and Ignis does look away then, to a different portrait of a different king holding a different weapon. He looks as if he wants to spill facts about this king's reign, his children, his death and legacy, as if familiar facts and histories can protect him from the discomfort of the moment, of his own feelings.

"I...well. You had enough burdens. You had...so many troubles. I only wanted to help carry your burdens. To be of use." All of this is said to the portrait of the king and Noctis sighs. When he closes his eyes, Ignis is fading away on the ruined floor of Zegnautus Keep, trembling, the ring hot on his finger and his skin flaking off around it like cracked paint in a storm. A memory, but one still fresh to Noctis.

Ignis' idea of helping Noctis shoulder his burdens always seems to come at his own expense and the guilt of that makes Noctis feel overwhelmed and unworthy.

"I would have liked to know," Noctis says. He wants to stare at his feet, but he keeps his eyes trained on Ignis and his subtle squirming under the scrutiny.

"I understand, Your Majesty. Please forgive me for causing you any worry." He bows once, very quickly, but still with elegance.

"Ignis, come on. Cut it out," Noctis says. He grabs Ignis' gloved hand when he straightens from the bow and holds on even when Ignis tries to extract it.

"Look at me, come on. Please," Noctis says, almost whines like the kid he hasn't been in a long time.

It works, because Ignis does look at him at last, his cheeks pink and his faded eyes wide with nerves or fear or both.

"I would have liked to know because then I could say that it's the same. For me," he says stiltedly. "It's the same for me, too."

The look on Ignis' face is as shocked as if Noctis had struck him, and any other day he'd find Ignis' beached fish look comedic. But now it just makes him squeeze his eyes tight, straining for more courage, fighting back the image of Ignis dying on that cold ground for him. Not for Eos or Lucis or Insomnia. For _him._

For Noctis.

"I was too dumb to know it then. Too weak. But I know it now and...and you should know, too. I want you to know."

He squeezes Ignis' hand, thinks of holding it as he slid the ring from his scarred finger and placed it on his own, begged the Crystal for the power to protect the people most precious to him.

Ignis says nothing, robbed of words for once. He does not deny what Noctis has said any more than he questions it. Instead, he frees his hand from Noctis' to bow reverently once more.

"It is an honor to serve you," is what he manages, but his voice is rough and low. He doesn't rise immediately, gathering his composure around him like a ribbon around his wrist to make him impervious and unbreakable.

And Noctis doesn't know if he should smile or wince. It's nice to hear. It's not what he wanted to hear. And it's certainly not how he imagined this conversation might happen once he decided to ask this question.

Ignis rises once again, flicks his hand at the door behind them. "Don't be late," he says. "I'm off to meet with Dave Auburnbrie about Hunter duties. We can reconvene after lunch. I'll come back to escort you, shall I? Try to maintain this kingly confidence you've found."

Noctis shakes his head, half amused, half disappointed. Ignis could end a conversation faster than anyone he'd ever met.

"I'll be on my best behavior," Noctis proclaims with a smile. He lets it fall away as he adds, "We'll be talking about this again," he says.

Ignis turns on his heels so quickly his robes make a breeze as it flairs around him. "As your Majesty commands," he tosses over his shoulder with a playful tone. Noctis watches him stride away, his pace quickened now without Noctis beside him to check his speed. He thinks it strange that he has so many memories of being apart from his oldest ally, as if he and Ignis are always walking away from each other, being separated by circumstance or destiny.

He enters the Small Chamber and wonders if he has the strength now to bring all that to an end; to close the gap between them; to force the issue of Ignis' long silence. Noctis had said what he had to say. Not well, but with honesty, and that was kingly in its own way.

The rest is up to Ignis.

Noctis takes his seat at the head of the long table, studies the faces of his advisors and allies. It's always strange when Ignis is not beside him, behind him, somehow nearby. It is a great mystery to him how to affix Ignis to his side, install him like parts on the Regalia so that he is a permanent presence, not one who could walk away or be taken away so easily again.

He'd wait, Noctis realizes. Ignis' loyalty and devotion and selflessness are all worth waiting for. The rare smile. The wisdom in his eyes. The rose red warmth he had nestled in his heart since he was only six and tasked with caring for a spoiled prince. One who had finally grown into a king.

Noctis had endured ten years of solitude. Compared to that, this is no hardship at all.

The meeting is slow to begin as people settle into their seats and call nearby servants for water and coffee. The council chamber has a wealth of windows, but the curtains are closed, giving the room a grey and drab air. A new member of the Council bounces over and tugs them open, flooding the room with white light and the dazzle of dust floating. The wood and glass shine and the metal glints. The room is suddenly lovely and bright.

Noct feels the sun on his skin and it warms him through. The Crystal had taught him patience. He can wait.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for stopping by! This is my second fic for this fandom. The title is from "The Death of Regret," a poem by Thomas Hardy:
> 
> I opened my shutter at sunrise,  
And looked at the hill hard by,  
And I heartily grieved for the comrade  
Who wandered up there to die.
> 
> I let in the morn on the morrow,  
And failed not to think of him then,  
As he trod up that rise in the twilight,  
And never came down again.
> 
> I undid the shutter a week thence,  
But not until after I'd turned  
Did I call back his last departure  
By the upland there discerned.
> 
> Uncovering the casement long later,  
I bent to my toil till the gray,  
When I said to myself, 'Ah - what ails me,  
To forget him all the day!'
> 
> As daily I flung back the shutter  
In the same blank bald routine,  
He scarcely once rose to remembrance  
Through a month of my facing the scene.
> 
> And ah, seldom now do I ponder  
At the window as heretofore  
On the long valued one who died yonder,  
And wastes by the sycamore.


End file.
